


The Ebb of the Sea

by LadyLade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Selkie Stiles Stilinski, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLade/pseuds/LadyLade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, when she was young, a newly-made Mrs. Stilinski, Jenny was told that she was sterile, that the beautiful children in her head would never be real. So she went to the sea to mourn, because the sea knew all about salt water and the waves would whisper apologies against her toes as she sat on the shore.</p>
<p>And there was where she found him, sea-slick and silent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ebb of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf Kink meme prompt: Sheriff Stilinski and his wife couldn't have children. In her desperation, Mrs. Stilinski found a young Selkie boy and hid his sealskin. Only she knew where it was hidden; when she died, so did that knowledge. Stiles grew to love his human family as his own, even grieving the death of his captor/mom, but the sea still calls to him in Beacon Hills. Up to author!anon if Mr. Stilinski knows or not. (Original prompt [here](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/2069.html?thread=824341#t824341). Livejournal post [here](http://ladylade.livejournal.com/15960.html).)
> 
> [fire_juggler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/pseuds/fire_juggler) did a _gorgeous_ podfic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/438812) that everyone should listen to because it is exactly the tone I was going for.

Once upon a time, when she was young, a newly-made Mrs. Stilinski, Jenny was told that she was sterile, that the beautiful children in her head would never be real. So she went to the sea to mourn, because the sea knew all about salt water and the waves would whisper apologies against her toes as she sat on the shore.

And there was where she found him, sea-slick and silent.

>>> 

For a while, Stiles’ human mind is too young to understand. The Stilinskis move to Beacon Hills when he is four, because Beacon Hills is far from the sea and no-one will know that Jenny had never been pregnant. The Stilinkis move to Beacon Hills because a selkie pelt is easy to hide in woods that don’t know the ocean.

So for years Stiles can’t understand the whispers in his ears, like he has pressed sea-shells against them. He can’t understand why water is so bland, why clean water always tastes so metallically dirty. He can’t understand why he craves the security of fur.

Still, even though Stiles’ mind has grown more human over the years, he comes to understand that he longs for the sea.

Stiles hasn’t physically been to the sea since he was a pup, but in his dreams…in his dreams, he’s always in the sea. The sea was his first love and he remembers it all: the pervasive smell of salt, the rhythmic rock of the tides, the way currents sometimes somersaulted across the ocean bottom, twisting in tangents to each other. His misses the way he could arch his back, how he could cut through the water with just a flick of his hind flippers and a carefully dipped nose.

Sometimes, he wakes up and wonders how he is supposed to get out of his bed, how he can possibly wriggle and flop out of the heavy covers and onto the floor. And then he remembers that he has arms, has hands, has legs. He remembers that he feels split, his limbs so far apart from his body. Stiles has never quite gotten used to this human body, has never felt anything but awkward when he has to walk or run.

But at the same time, he barely remembers what it was like to truly be a selkie.

>>> 

Stiles remembers the warmth and the shape of his real mother, but he’s been human for so long, he’s _grown up_ human, and he considers the Stilinskis his parents. When Mom dies he mourns her just like her real child would have. He always associated her with the sea, and he thinks that he will go back to the place she found him in her honor, after he’s sure that someone will take care of his dad.

But Stiles can’t find his pelt.

Sometimes, Stiles wonders if his selkie part died with her. He wonders if dreams are just dreams, and if he will remain human until he dies.

Stiles mourns harder.

>>> 

“I don’t know where she put it,” his dad says one night. “I’m so sorry. I love you and I want you here because you’re my _son_ , but I think you’re unhappy. I wish I could make you happy. I would give it to you if I knew where it was.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Stiles says, carefully taking the bottle of whiskey out of his hand. “We can look for it in the morning; let’s get you to bed.”

His dad doesn’t remember the conversation the next morning, and Stiles never brings it up. The sea will always be there. His dad won’t.

>>> 

Scott is dorky and sarcastic and, most important of all, Stiles’ best friend. He hugs Stiles when Stiles cries because Mom is dead, and he tells Stiles how he wants to become a vet when he grows up; and Scott’s mom rolls her eyes a lot at Stiles, but when Stiles gets sick she takes care of him when his dad has to work.

Stiles cherishes these moments, because Stiles could never have a friendship like this if he went home, and it makes being human bearable.

>>> 

High school is—well, high school is. Girls are still vicious and boys are still bullies, and Stiles is still that awkward, lanky pup who can’t shut his mouth. And, okay, he and Scott will probably be benched for the entirety of their lacrosse years, but at least they’re still losers together. High school won’t be fun, but Stiles is reasonably sure that they won’t be traumatized for life.

Teenage human hormones suck, though.

>>> 

The first time Stiles meets Derek Hale is in the woods with Scott, despite Scott’s suspicions otherwise. Stiles knows about the Hales because he remembers the case, remembers how his dad sat at the kitchen table and stared at the pictures of the children who had died in the fire. He had been crying, silent and still, and Stiles hadn’t know how to fix him. Mom had been gone for a year, and Stiles had never missed her more than in that moment.

The only thing he could do was climb on his dad’s lap and curl up there, feeling like the pup he was. His dad was still silent, but he wrapped his arms around Stiles.

Eventually, his Dad told him who everyone was. Stiles remembers Derek, serious looking even then, was scrawny and still had some baby-fat left over.

When Stiles meets Derek Hale in person, though, he thinks of fur.

>>> 

Scott is a _werewolf_. Stiles shouldn’t be so surprised, he’s a selkie and they’re much rarer in mythology than werewolves—but it still astounds him. He starts to think of fur when he sees Scott, but it’s faint. Mostly, he just wonders how he’s going to help Scott through this.

>>> 

Derek Hale’s a werewolf too. Well, that explains the fur thing.

>>> 

That night, in the school, Stiles remembers panic and running and punching Jackson (because, dude, he totally deserved it). He remembers talking to his dad’s voicemail and, despite the terror that his dad _wasn’t picking up_ , feeling the warm press of his dad’s arms around him and his voice steadily rattling off names, dates, educations, occupations. He remembers how, even though the alpha brought the image of fur to his mind, the alpha also reminded him of rows upon rows of shark teeth, sharp and curved and insatiably hungry for blood.

Until that night, Stiles hadn’t really remembered that, in his seal body, he’s actually prey.

>>> 

When Peter asks if Stiles wants the bite, he says no. And despite what Peter thinks, Stiles isn’t lying.

Stiles doesn’t want the bite. He doesn’t want to be a werewolf; he’s not sure if it’s even possible. What Stiles _does_ want is the ease that werewolves can flow from one form to another. He wants to feel fur tucked safely under his skin.

What Stiles wants is a _choice_.

>>> 

Somehow, after it all, Stiles ends up lounging on the Hale mansion steps, too warm and sun-drunk to chatter at Derek, who’s sitting on the top step and quietly sipping a beer. Derek’s calf is pressed firmly against Stile’s shoulder.

Stiles would ask for a beer, but warm beer tastes like piss and _wait_ —

“Is that beer cold? Do you even _have_ a refrigerator?” Stiles is too lazy to open his eyes.

Derek snorts and presses his calf harder against Stiles. Stiles grins; the day is perfectly mellow.

“So what are you?” Derek says in lieu of answering.

At this, Stiles _does_ open his eyes, but thankfully keeps his mouth shut as he stares at Derek.

“You look like a human, and you sound like a human, and you act like a human,” Derek says, “which should make you a human. But you smell like the ocean.”

“Dude, that’s my body wash. And my car freshener,” Stiles says. “Doesn’t the ocean make you all calm and happy and—“

Okay, Derek’s glare says he’s totally not buying it.

Stiles looks away, staring at the woods. Should he tell Derek? _What_ does he tell him?

And then Stiles is forgetting all about explaining, because Derek is shoving his face into Stiles’ neck and breathing in deeply, and Stiles is squawking and flailing and bruising himself on the corners of the steps as he tries to get away.

“Hmm,” Derek says after he’s very kindly remembered that yes, people have personal bubbles, “you smell like a seal.”

“Okay,” Stiles says because, for fuck’s sake, “how the hell do you know what seals smell like? What, did you go swimming and decide to try out being a shark for a day or two?”

Derek grins smugly. “You’re a selkie.”

“I am not,” Stiles protests, but he doesn’t really have his heart in it.

“Uh-huh,” Derek says, and drains the rest of his beer. He stands up, and, without another word, goes into the house, shutting the battered door behind him.

“Nice talk we had!” Stiles calls after him.

>>> 

It starts a pattern: Stiles and Derek lounging on the steps, Derek with a beer in hand. Mostly, they make bitchy comments about Scott and Jackson’s training—specifically, the _lack_ of training. Scott is still too wrapped up in Allison, and Jackson is, surprisingly, ridiculously insecure and trying to do _everything_ , which actually stops him from doing _anything_. Then the conversation will fade off, and they’ll just watch the shadows move across the lawn, Derek’s calf always against Stiles’ shoulder.

And then the hunters come, fuck things up, and finally leave.

Scott is at the vet’s, sleeping of some bullet wounds; Jackson’s probably crashing at Danny’s place; Stiles is once again sitting on the steps. This time, though, he’s got his right arm in a sling (one of those assholes decided to dislocate it when he wouldn’t confirm that Derek was the Alpha) and he and Derek are passing a bottle of tequila back and forth.

Derek might not be drunk but he’s not sober either, as he keeps skimming his fingers against Stiles’ (non-injured) shoulder whenever he hands the bottle off.

“Okay,” Stiles finally says, “are you feeling alright, big guy? You’ve been kinda touchy-feely, and not in that whole ‘I’m a caveman and must push you into walls’ way.”

Derek is silent for a while (Stiles thinks he actually forgot the question), and then says, “I know where your pelt is.”

The world doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop but it should, because Stiles’ ever-increasing heartbeat is drowning out every other sound and leaves are tumbling across the lawn like waves and the smell of sea-salt is so, so strong and—

Derek is in front of him, gripping both sides of his face and talking; it startles Stiles enough that he can focus just enough to make out, “Breathe. Stiles, you need to _breathe_.”

So Stiles breathes, and the air doesn’t taste like sea-air, and gradually the woodlands seep back into Stiles’ senses as the mirage of the sea washes away. Derek stays there as Stiles gasps moronically, his eyes shadowed and his face pinched.

“I’m good,” Stiles finally says.

Derek studies him, nods, and then releases his face like an afterthought. He settles back on the steps but this time presses shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip with Stiles. They both fall silent, the tequila forgotten.

It will be worse, Stiles knows, if Derek tells him where his pelt is. Right now it’s easy to be Stiles, to be human, when his pelt is a series of dreams. The sea calls to him, yes, but he gets distracted by mundane, _human_ things; he is able to forget the sea. But with his pelt…with his pelt, Stiles would probably melt back into the sea, where his name is a seal song. Everything else (Scott; Derek; _god_ , his _dad_ ) would be insignificant.

But it’s been so _long_. Stiles needs to know.

“Where?” He can’t look at Derek, can’t speak louder than a whisper.

“I was visiting my—I was at the cemetery,” Derek says. “I could smell it through the ground.”

Stiles nods furiously, tears pushing hot and fast to fall, because _Jesus_ , it feels like he’s lost Mom all over again. She buried his pelt with her. She’s _killed him_.

“I can’t,” Stiles says, and his voice cracks so hard he doesn’t try to continue.

Derek doesn’t say anything—he’s not stupid enough to say ‘sorry’—just leans against Stiles harder. They sit there well after it gets dark and cold, and Stiles thinks of fur.

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Why don’t you ever go to the ocean?” Derek asks one day. They’re in their customary slouch on the steps.

“Dude,” Stiles snorts, “that’s like watching your ex-girlfriend make out with a guy whose dick is bigger than yours.”

Derek laughs. He’s been doing that more, happier these days, and Stiles is glad.

“Besides,” Stiles prepares himself for some epic mocking, “I’m actually pretty bad at swimming.”

“Bullshit,” Derek says.

“I almost drown once,” Stiles admits. “In a six foot pool. When I was fourteen.”

Derek cracks up, sliding down the steps helplessly, and after a few minutes of glaring Stiles joins him. For once, with the sun shining and Derek pressed against him, warm and laughing, Stiles doesn’t feel the pull of the sea.


End file.
